


The Build Up

by Skarita



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Beatnik Rose, F/F, F/M, Humanstuck, Kanaya singing Jazz, Kimbra, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-19
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-29 19:47:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skarita/pseuds/Skarita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Every eye in the house follows her as she swings silently through the curtains and the song draws to a close, lights dimming. There’s applause, but you’re too hypnotised to raise your hands and join in.</p><p>"Kanaya Maryam sings like a goddess and you return every night to hear her, behind an inconspicuous pair of darkened glasses and a black felt beret."</p><p>Rose Lalonde falls in love with Kanaya Maryam, Kanaya Maryam is in permanent denial, and everyone conspires to bring them together.</p><p>A humanstuck AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Night.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm currently working on two fictions at once, and I simply couldn't get this idea out of my head once I'd written the first section. This work is based upon a common fandom headcanon that Kanaya sings like the rising star pop/jazz singer Kimbra, and as such is constructed around several of her recently released songs. The song from which this piece takes it's namesake is from her newly release album, "Vows".
> 
> Enjoy.

_“Somebody please, please take me home._   
_There’s children igniting like sweet cherry bolt._   
_Blacktop lagoons lie safe in cocoons._   
_And to sweet serenade I cross my roots…”_

The low croon sweetens the air around you as you sit, notebook in hand, scribbling away at your notes as though you were paying any attention to them. In all honesty you’re paying more attention to the woman on stage, and have been doing so for the last half hour. Her hips sway with the velveteen notes that she sings, and though they’re really more like nonsense verse there’s something hypnotising about the way she makes them come alive.

 

_“Somebody please, please hear this song._   
_Squeeze time and night by a plastic bombshell bloom-_   
_Let it be soon, this impending doom._   
_Raise a blanket, betty parade, scheduled for noon…”_

Her eyes are hooded and barely seem to be looking at the crowd; rather the most you can see is a shimmer of jade green eyeliner and a mouth kissed to a microphone that she cradles like a child to her breast. A saxophonist behind her takes the lead away as she fades out and allows the instrumental to take over for a few moments. You pick up your coffee by its porcelain handle but never take your eyes off the stage as you sip. It’s bittersweet, like the melody. As you set it down the woman steps forward and parts those mesmerising lips to reveal ivory teeth once again.

 

“ _Ooh, this song is drifting away._  
 _Burns ups your eyes; melts your face like sea-spray._  
 _Our plagiaristic tendency is paving the way…”_

She holds her last note to a diminuendo and turns away, allowing the band to finish. As she sweeps the curtains aside and allows her fellow singers backstage you try to draw your eyes away from her- but you can’t until she’s gone. There’s applause, but you’re too dazed to join in.

 

Kanaya Maryam sings like a goddess. You return night after night to hear her, veiled behind an inconspicuous pair of darkened glasses and a black felt beret. Idle banter wafts over you as you try to engrave the last resounding note of the song into your soul.

 

\-----

 

 

“That woman was here again. The one in the black dress and beret.”

 

You pause with a pair of hairpins between your teeth, hair halfway up your neck, and turn to listen to your band mate. You blink a few times, gently pinning your curls up in an elegant mess that flows down your neck in waves, a well-practiced routine.

 

“Really? Is she here every night?”

 

“Every night, Kanaya. I really think you might have a fan.”

 

You snort. Pure nonsense. People just come here to drink, smoke and ogle at showgirls. She’s probably just here for the atmosphere.

 

“Feferi, would you hand me that comb?”

 

She takes a few seconds to unstick it from her own thick curls, and hands it to you with a pout. “Kanaya, when are you going to start believing that someone might actually want to be with you?”

 

You brush this enquiry aside and comb your bangs away from your face. Nepeta, however, has sniffed out the subject, and now you won’t hear the end of it. “Kanaaayaaaa” she mewls, lounging over a stage chair and you sigh, dropping your arms.

 

“Enough about my tragic love-life, if you please. Don’t you have some kind of movie night with Jane, or whoever?”

 

Nepeta immediately jumps onto the new subject, to your relief. “It’s Jaaade, and we’re having an anime night at her house. We’re going to watch Ouran Highschool Host Club.” You nod your head at her like you recognise it. You honestly never watched much anime beyond Hellsing and Vampire Knight, and even then that was after a lot of bothering from your soprano. Aradia pulls the small girl from the chair before she tears up the seat with her nails.

 

“And I suppose you’re just going to go home?” she inquires, gently lowering Nepeta to the ground. You nod again.

 

“As usual.”

 

Feferi follows this up with another pout, “Well, I’m going out with Sollux tonight. I don’t suppose you’d want to tag along? You might meet someone special! What about you, Aradia, do you want to come?”

 

Aradia spares her a grimace. “I’d rather not ‘tag along’ just to watch you make out with my best friend. There are limits, you know.” She continues after a moment, shrugging on a thick, baggy woollen jersey that makes you flinch- she had such a nice figure, too. “Besides, I’m actually meeting someone.” There’s a brief pause in which Feferi and Nepeta catch hold of this information, and then proceed to leap to her and demand every possible detail. You smile quietly, and slip out the back. There’s something uniquely painful about knowing everyone is in love except you.


	2. The Second Night

You’re back for a fifth night, possibly against your better judgement. There’s something about this place that gives you just the spark you need- you’ve finally broken your writer’s block, and words come so easily to you after a night’s worth of smooth jazz and dark coffee. But it’s not safe for you. Sure, it’s an inconspicuous place, and you’ve taken the care to at least avoid dressing like you do for book signings. You’ve considered a wig, but discovered that strange stands out less frighteningly than normal around here, where everyone is so very different.

 

You were introduced to the lounge by a few good friends of yours in the area- Dave had first made the recommendation, of course, but it was John who had brought you here- he played the piano every night, and the bar was owned by his boyfriend, Karkat. You’ve been staying with Jade for the last few week and a half- her house is cosy, at least, but you simply can’t hang around at night. She has too many visitors (A habit of picking up strays), and as pleasant as she is, sometimes her bubbly attitude gets right up your nose.

 

There’s also no-one you’d rather talk over a relationship with, but that’s an altogether different deck of cards.

 

The truth is you have a terrible suspicion you have a crush on the lead singer. She doesn’t seem to have noticed you, to your relief- you’re not sure you want to muck up the quiet life she has here, and you’re not sure how anyone could deal with you in the long run, anyway. It’s always a constant dash from the media, and book-signings coupled with long nights tapping away at a keyboard, keeping you busy.

 

_“This is non-stop baby,_  
You’ve got me going crazy,  
You’re heavier than I knew.  
But I don’t want no other; you’re my cameo lover  
Only here for a moment or two.” 

_  
_

Your eyes drift from your notebook to the stage again, as a new song starts up. The woman at the microphone, who you know is named Kanaya because you subtly fished the information from John two nights ago, is singing lead for this song. She doesn’t always lead, but you enjoy her voice wherever she stands. They’re an interesting group; As far as you know, Kanaya hails from somewhere in Britain, or so John says, despite her rather Spanish appearance. You can hear the traces of a lingering accent in her words, and she certainly seems to hold herself straight, as if constantly wandering through the trepidation and sense of non-belonging. It’s a feeling you know and understand very well.

 

_“’cause every day’s like talking in your sleep:_  
Love is like a silhouette indeed!  
So open up your heart,  
Open up your heart,  
Open up your heart and let me pull you out of here!” 

_  
_

To her left are the remaining three members of the group, joining in with earnest for the upbeat chorus. You’re certain they aren’t full-time here, because occasionally the tall one in the middle turns up with dirt across her cheeks (Read: This was the first night she hadn’t), and you have occasionally seen the small girl on the far left making her way towards Jade’s house in the mornings while you’re leaving.  The girl closest to Kanaya is a little bit different- she looks like a mix between a hippie and a Hawaiian princess. Besides Kanaya, she sings lead most often, as far as you can tell. They all tend to address each other by stage names- the tallest girl goes by “Graves”, the short one by “Catseye”, and the other lead by an apt “Empress”. You can understand where all these names come from, but Kanaya’s confuses you.

 

Everyone in the house refers to her as “The Bridesmaid”.

 

 

\-----

 

 

You linger after everyone has gone again, caught up in thinking. Just like Feferi had told you, the woman with the white hair and the black beret had returned to listen again. You watched her between lines, seeing her scribble the occasional few words in her pink-bound notebook, which was curious behaviour, and couldn’t have been good for her eyes. It was also somewhat odd, the way she wore those black-lensed glasses even in the low, smoky light of the bar-lounge. 

 

You don’t dare entertain the thought that you could be the reason why. She’s probably just some drop-beat poet. They sometimes come for open-mic night- always once, because Karkat “can’t tolerate terrible poetry”. You’re sure you’ve seen him asking for paper copies of it backstage, and you know it’s because deep down he’s really the cheesy romantic type- you learn these things after rooming with the guy for a year and a half. He and John, your pianist, seem to have been made for each other. He’s the only one who can put up with the constant yelling and still wear a smile, day after day.

 

Which reminds you, tomorrow is open-mic night. Perhaps you’ll finally be able to confirm your suspicions about her- you’re sure she’ll come again, even though you and the rest of the Hearts aren’t singing, and you’ll be able to prove to Feferi that she’s just another dropout.

 

Although, she doesn’t really act like a dropout. The way she casually holds herself, leaning across the arm of the sofa, as if she were queen of the world, and how she always orders a coffee every hour, before switching to a black tea to finish, and she never seems tired or ragged. At the end of the performance, she hadn’t applauded, instead closing her eyes and breathing. You disappeared behind the curtains, and when you came back, she was gone without a trace. It was all incredibly baffling, and if she persisted with this behaviour you weren’t sure how well you’d be able to resist the impulse to snoop.

 

With a last sigh, you wander away from the stage, down to the bar, where Karkat is cleaning glasses in preparation for the next night.

 

“Yeah, it’s all a bit goddamn tough, isn’t it Kanaya?”

 

You blink, looking at him. “Excuse me?”

 

“You’ve been sighing every couple of seconds for the last half hour, it’s like you’re trying to heave your lungs out.”

 

“I’m fairly certain you’re overemphasising the frequency of my sighing.”

 

Karkat just rolls his eyes and thumps a glass down on the counter, starting on another one before doubling back.

 

“D’you want a drink or something?”

 

You stop. “Excuse me?”

 

“Clean out your fucking ears, Maryam, I’m trying to be nice. Okay, ugh, sorry, I’m just kind of…” He fidgets as you pull up a stool, “… Lonely. John’s gone out with some of his old colleagues, or some shit.”

 

“Why didn’t you go with them?” you ask, and as expected, he snorts.

 

“And make an ass of myself and him? Fuck no. Somebody around here has to work.” Considering Karkat is both manager and bartender, you find this statement fair.  He keeps hiring and firing waiters and waitresses, so you’re getting used to keeping him company on the late nights. The absence of John is certainly different, though.

 

You lean an elbow on the bench and let your hair out, allowing it to spill over your shoulders. After a while, though you normally pin it up for vanity’s sake, your scalp tends to become a bit strained, so this freedom feels nice. You’re considering cutting it short, but you’ve never quite had the gall to go through with this plan. Besides, it’s only Karkat. He’s never particularly cared for appearances.

 

“So who are these friends of his?” you ask, flicking a finger against the glass to make a chiming rhythm. After Karkat’s eye starts twitching, you stop.

 

“I dunno, some insufferable prick named Strider, that Jade chick Nepeta hangs out with and this other bitch who calls herself ‘T.T.’”

 

You pause. “Strider?”

 

“Yeah, Dave Strider."

 

“Didn’t he direct…?”

 

Karkat spits into the sink. “Jesus, don’t even talk to me about that crap. You want a quality movie, you ought to get out something that at least has Julia Roberts in it. Not that you heard me say that” he adds, looking you squarely in the eye. You do your best to give him a responsible, trustworthy-looking smile. Karkat’s terrible chickflick obsession never leaves the discussion table. In other words, everyone knew about it. Not that you don’t have your own guilty pleasures, but those are more often saved for a late night with low-lights and dark chocolate.

 

“It seems like John is rather well-connected.” You reply, and listen as he continues to mutter obscenities. At least tonight you aren’t the only one left over.

 

 

\-----

 

 

“So it’s open-mic night tomorrow” John is saying, as you idly swirl a glass of iced tea in front of you, “And I was thinking…”

 

You turn your head and listen. You’re a little disappointed that you won’t be hearing Kanaya and the Hearts sing, but you doubt you’ll get out of an open-mic night proposition unscathed, not while you’re sitting with John Egbert, Jade Harley and Dave Strider, possibly the three most dangerous friends you’ve ever had purely upon principle. Dave, being a director, was completely insufferable, and when he and John were together, strange things often resulted. Jade only served to egg them on, which, to her credit, made things at least ten times more ridiculous.

 

“-and we find some cancan dancers and use them as a substitute” Dave is saying, while John snorts with laughter. You realise while you were thinking you had missed half the proposition, and when Jade turns to ask you what you think, you can only retain your polite smile and nod.

 

“Well, that would certainly be interesting, but to be honest I wasn’t planning on participating.”

 

Jade’s face drops as Dave sets down a glass of beer.

 

“C’mon Lalonde that’s not how you play it. You were going to be the centrepiece of the whole thing, doing an acrobatic fucking pirouette from the chandelier.” Dave says, and you fix him with a sharpened glance.

 

“Please remember not to call me that Dave, it could make things overly complicated.”

 

“Oh, right, you’re playing spy-writer. Just warn me before you break out the laser pens and jujitsu flips, I want to get my video camera.”

 

Before you can snark out a reply, Jade interrupts. “Won’t you at least come to watch? You brought your violin, right?” she asks, fixing you with a wide, bespectacled stare that you simply couldn’t lie to.

 

“Well, yes, I did bring my violin. But I really don’t think-“

 

“Oh, come on Rose, it’s a small place and nobody knows you play violin. Nobody’s going to recognise you. Besides, I miss hearing you fiddle” John makes motions as if he were trying to furiously saw off his arm at the elbow to demonstrate, and you have to at least smirk at his efforts.

 

“Well I suppose” you say, relenting, and Jade gives out a big, victorious whoop.

 

“And don’t worry” Dave says, as the cousins exchange high-fives, “If any of the ladies recognise you we can sneak you out behind the toucans.”

 

You really aren’t sure whether or not you want to know what Dave’s entire plan was anymore.


	3. Open Mic Night (The Third Night)

For the first night in a while, you’re sitting in the audience. You’re not entirely sure what enticed you from lingering beside the bar to lounging in the lower audience around a card-table, because Sollux is trying to explain the finer points of algorithms to Feferi and Aradia’s date is sweating like a waterfall. Nepeta is sitting at another table, with John, Jade, and who you presume is one David Strider. He hasn’t really made the best job of disguising his appearance, but most people in here didn’t tend to watch many movies- music had prime place in the soul, after all.

 

You sigh over the arm of the couch (Karkat is right, you have been sighing an awful lot lately), and gaze up to the stage. Then you jerk back in surprise and crash into Aradia, because the woman on the stage is holding a violin beneath her chin, is wearing glasses, a short dress and a black beret and introduces herself simply as “T.T.”

 

Aradia helps you upright, with a laugh. “Great reaction, Kan. Isn’t that that girl who keeps coming to see you sing?”

 

Feferi, across the table, leaps up and applauds as at another table John and Jade do the same and T.T. bows elegantly, bow held aloft at her right. She steps quietly up to the microphone, apparently entirely at ease with the situation, leans in and introduces her song with a New-Yorker’s accent.

 

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen, I shan’t bore you with the theatrics, I’m really only up here because a pack of prize cards held my dignity ransom at knifepoint” she pauses for the faint chuckle from the audience, before continuing, “It’s not my own creation, alas, but I hope you enjoy the rendition. This is Pachebel’s ‘Canon in D’.”

 

She raises the bow, and as it slides across the first string your surprise melts away into the aria.

 

And then you look up at her, and realise her attention is focussed on only one spot in the audience, and that is directly at you.

 

\-----

 

It’s only once you string the final note and take a bow that you realize you’ve had your gaze focussed on Kanaya this entire time. You curse your wandering eyes, wishing they had instead landed on John, or Jade, or even Nepeta- anyone except the elegant woman sitting two tables down with her perfectly draped shawl and jade-green highlights. You utter a scrambled “Thank you” into the microphone and hurry off the stage to place your violin in its case.

 

You have a very strong urge to simply walk out the door and run, but instead you straighten your back and wander over to your table, where your friends greet you back with polite applause (Besides Dave, who of course is left applauding long after everyone else in a long, drawn out movement). Nepeta, whom you’ve only just become properly acquainted with, eyes you as you sit down. As John, Jade and Dave stand to prepare their act, they leave you alone with her, and you curse the eldritch gods for your terrible luck. She scoots around with a feline grin on her face.

 

“You’ve certainly got your eyes on someone, haven’t you?” she purrs, looking very pleased to have stumbled upon your scandal.

 

“Balderdash. I’ll have you know I was only fervently attempting to crack that wine-glass over there with my mind.”

 

“Oh, it’s not use playing coy T.T., the Catseye knows romance when she sees it in the air.” She flicks her gypsy-hair and returns her olive-eyed gaze to you, making you want to shuffle away uncomfortably.

 

“Oh, so that’s what those awful fumes were. I thought it was just a gas leak” you reply, “And, in fact, I think I’ll go tell the landlord about it.”

 

You quickly get up to order another drink from the bar, leaving Nepeta looking somewhat dejected. But, as soon as she sees you looking back at her, she makes a pointing gesture at Kanaya and then a clawing motion in the air. You grimace out loud, and wish Jade made subtler friends.

 

 -----

 

Oh, god. Now Feferi is never going to let you hear the end of the tale, and Nepeta will no doubt be keeping her journal updated regularly and you can’t understand what exactly has just transpired. All you know is that you have to get out of here, before you start to _feel_ something, because you know it will only end in heartbreak and you’ve been down that road before.

 

“I’m just going out for some fresh air” you murmur, standing and wrapping your shawl a little higher up your neck. You can feel eyes on your back as you slide past tables and chairs, inelegantly bumping your hips on outlying surfaces and trying to go as unnoticed and more importantly unfazed as possible. The door to the back alley beckons you, and it certainly seems like a very attractive option.

 

You’re almost there when Nepeta practically tackles you at the door. You continue to prove how terribly un-unfazed you are by desperately stumbling through and dragging your gypsy-haired band mate out with you. “Nepeta!” you exclaim in exasperation, as she clings to your back.

 

“No Kanaya! You _can’t_ leave now, the situation is so purrfect!” she squeals, sounding thoroughly disappointed by your antisocial behaviour.

 

You won’t have a bar of it. “Please observe the fact that we are outside.” You calmly shake her off. “Now observe how I am going to walk home, and pretend that what transpired tonight did not in fact actually happen.”

 

“Kanaaaayaaaa!” she whines, and you smell the tears coming. When it came to romance and your issues with it, Nepeta Leijon simply did not play fair. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn around again. You know it’s just a trick of hers, but there’s something about crying people that compels you to make an effort to fix the situation, and your chest already feels heavy.

 

“What is it that you’d have me do about all this?”

 

She looks up at you and sniffs, button nose reddened, wide, childlike eyes watery. “You gotta _make_ it happen!”

 

You’re about to ask her to elaborate on this command when there is a loud crash from indoors, and Karkat Vantas starts yelling “Get the fuck out of my establishment!” at the top of his sizeable lungs.

 

\-----

 

You knew getting those three together was a terrible idea, and you suppose it’s really your fault for not listening properly when Dave Strider was explaining his elaborate stage plan. Now, absolutely everything is chaos. The first thing you remember was a funked up remix of the chicken dance starting up, as you stared at your tea wondering if it had been drugged or not.

 

And all of a sudden, the manager was screaming in your ear, Jade was hanging from the lighting rail, the curtains were _on fire_ , and John and Dave were covered in cream-custard pie, alongside several members of the audience including three musicians, some beatniks and a tall, muscular man in a suit who was yelling something about “Lewd behaviour and an absolutely shameful disregard for basic social coda”. The singer you only knew as “Graves” was beating at his chest in an attempt to calm him down- he had her in his arms, apparently having tried to protect her from the flying desserts, and had subsequently managed to put his foot right through the wooden table in front of them. The Empress was making wild attempts at calming everyone down while her date was swearing red and blue- there was cream all over his customized iPhone, and he looked about ready to attack Dave, who was grinning like a maniac.  You have no idea how on earth this all happened.

 

“No, no, you listen you ridiculous fucker, I don’t care if you’re the Queen of fucking England just get the hell out of my bar!” Vantas was yelling, as Dave ran offstage, the large suited man being held back by the surprisingly strong Graves. Eventually he was calmed enough by Empress and Graves to settle into a couch (Which he nearly took up all on his own), mopping his brow with an embroidered handkerchief.

 

It was here that you decided perhaps leaving would be the best idea, because Vantas had turned his gaze to you looking for a connection and you didn’t particularly feel like garnering a ban notice from the man. Dave was your brother, and you weren’t keen on taking responsibility for his ridiculous acts.

 

Now you’re outside, watching Kanaya Maryam rush back into the bar through a stage entrance.

 

Everything taken into account, things could certainly have gone better.

 

\-----

 

Eventually, with Equius’s help, you manage to get Jade down from the lighting rack, and put the curtains out. You would weep for the state of the fabric, but to be frank, Karkat made a terrible decision on the colour (That you’ve never forgiven him for), and you’re actually glad to see them go. You make a mental note to pass your appreciation onto John so Strider gets the message.

 

Nepeta, on the other hand, cannot be fixed.

 

“She’s gooonnne!” the girl keeps whining, pulling on her hair, “And you were so close to starting something, ooh, this isn’t fair, it’s not fair!!”

 

She’s actually in tears, and you have no idea what to do. Feferi is looking bewildered as her attempts at calming affection go unnoticed, and she keeps pouncing around, making any attempts to actually get her to lie down and breathe entirely impossible. There is a loud _thump_ and an “Ow-uch” as Aradia falls down the stage-stairs while chasing her, and at this point her tall, moustached date steps in.

 

“You there, miss! I demand that you cease this ridiculous scurrilous behaviour!”

 

Nepeta stops moving like a deer in the headlights of a large lorry, and perches stiffly on the back of a couch.  You have never seen her do this before, and the entire room has gone silent (Even Karkat, which is entirely astounding). She stares at the man with her wide, childlike eyes, and he grimaces, removing his darkened glasses in order to see her properly.

 

“Miss, what I meant was, this behaviour is entirely unbecoming of one such as yourself, and I do believe you ought to perhaps try another approach to coping with this disappointment. Perhaps writing a letter would suffice.”

 

Nepeta’s eyes light up with a sudden thought, and the corners of your mouth twitch.

 

“You know mister, that’s a great idea! I think I might pause every now and then and write my thoughts down!”

 

Oh dear god. Your name is Kanaya Maryam, and now one of your best friends is going to be recording every romantic vision she has of your interactions with the woman in the black beret and the dark glasses. This situation could hardly get any worse. John catches your eye and makes a sympathetic gesture as you allow your forehead to plant itself firmly in your palms.

 

Well, at least Nepeta and Equius have become pleasantly acquainted. 


	4. The Fourth Night (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter all of a sudden has become a rather long one, so I'm going to post it in two parts rather than make everyone wait for me to decide when to cut this endless tirade off and post the whole thing in one fell swoop. 
> 
> For those who are curious, the song for this chapter(s) is Kimbra's "Good Intent".

_“You know you shouldn't be there but it's way past bed_

_There's comfort in the fingers of your good intent_

_You know you shouldn't be there but your money's all spent_

_You've got your reputation and your good intent_

_Your good intent”  
  
_

You shouldn’t be here. Especially not after what happened last night. The only reason you’re even still allowed in is because John threatened to withhold Karkat’s movie-night privileges for a week unless you were allowed to return, and out of courtesy you’ve purchased several alcoholic beverages that you have absolutely no intention of drinking. Feferi (You learned her name from Nepeta the previous night), is singing the lead on this one, with Aradia providing a solid, bass backup. Kanaya for her part is singing beside Nepeta, swinging her hips from side to side, and clicking her fingers in a perfect, hypnotising rhythm. You sit down, with what you take to be a Sauvignon Blanc, a Pinot Noir, and something akin to sherry, in front of you in elegant glasses. You put them at the other end of the table, and sit down again, where you hope you won’t gather attention.

You should have known this was a futile plan. Nepeta is staring hard at you, a determined look on her face. The moment you meet her eyes, she puts a sharp elbow in Kanaya’s ribs, and there’s a squawk over the microphone that makes you want to hide under the table in front of you and oh shit, now Kanaya Maryam is looking at you as well and you simply want to crawl under a rock and die. This was possibly the worst idea you’ve ever had.  
  


_“Out to feed that habit when you've sowed that seed_

_Nothing made you feel out of the ordinary_

_But the air turns sombre and the night took heed_

_Took you on a waltz of hypocrisy”  
  
_

The lyrics are starting to sound somewhat like knifepoints, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt more unwelcome in your life. Nepeta is smiling, as is Kanaya- but there’s something monstrous in the taller woman’s gaze that’s telling you “ _Get the hell out before we both regret this_ ”.

Rather than stooping and avoiding the challenge entirely, you nonchalantly turn your focus to a new band member who hadn’t been there the night before, a young African boy waiting at the ready with a saxophone in his hands. Your first cognizant thought is that he’s sitting; your second is that he’s in a wheelchair. You make yet another mental note to ask about the boy. He seems nervous, sax clutched in a trembling grip, and despite his warm smile, he is certainly not relaxed at all. You subtly glance back to Kanaya before he sees you staring and-

**_When did she take over the lead microphone?  
  
_ **

_“It's not enough to hope for the best_

_It's not enough to lie there on a brace_

_The liger's on the prowl now you've pulled its strings_

_One false move and soon you're playing dice for a-“  
  
_

She’s _daring_ you, and you can hardly believe it. Perhaps she’s been hiding her fangs all this time, but you know there’s no way of avoiding a meeting now, not while Nepeta is sneakily moving towards the exit to guard it and Jade has solemnly promised you not to let you back in until you’ve spoken to her (You discovered after you woke up this morning that they had been conspirators all along, which really should have come as no surprise). There’s only one way out of this now.

You’re going to have to speak to Kanaya Maryam, and hope for the love of all things she doesn’t already completely hate you for ruining her quite, stagebound life.

 

\-----

 

This woman has a lot of nerve, showing up after last night’s debacle. As the song draws to the close you step away from the microphone and wait, shoulder-to-shoulder with Feferi and Aradia. Somehow Feferi’s hand has sneaks it’s way around your wrist- you’re sure she means it to be reassuring, but for now it’s more like a cuff. Nepeta is guarding the door, so there’s no way either of you can get out of this without exchanging a few words with T.T., whether you want to or not.

You’re still not entirely willing to believe she’s here for you. Scratch that, you are knee-deep in denial, and you plan on staying that way.

It’s safer.

It’s comforting, and it feels at home in your heart. As good a defence as any, you suppose, as you mentally prepare yourself for a cold conversation. You’ll at least do her the favour of showing her that you are a refined woman, and perhaps she’ll feel too inadequate for you and leave you alone.

You severely doubt that this is going to work.

 

\-----

 

“Nope! You’re not gonna be sneaking out this way, T.T.” the gypsy-girl says, grabbing you by the shoulders and steering you back to your table. You don’t appreciate the uninvited contact, but John is watching you from the counter beside Karkat, and you have a feeling that if you were to make a run for it he would probably end up telling them all where you live. Nepeta continues to steer against your protests, and finally you end up sat back at the table you were previously occupying, three glasses of wine still perfectly arranged at a safe distance.

Looking around you can see that Karkat is closing up shop, and the majority of the patrons are already gone. This leaves you, Kanaya, the boy in the wheel chair, the rest of the Hearts, and John and his boyfriend. John catches your eye over the counter and gives you a reassuring wink. You resist the urge to sink your face into your palms, and instead prop yourself comfortably up against the back of the couch, swinging one knee over the other. You still have no intention of touching the wine.

Kanaya approaches, flanked by Graves and Empress, and you see that she too seems to have been hooked into this deal against her free will. You severely doubt things are going to go smoothly, and the best you can do is remain cold and civil, and try not to let out the fact that your heart is hammering against your ribs like an earthquake in a birdcage. For her part, she’s still managing to look austere, elegant, and entirely closed.

“Good evening” you offer, not quite managing a casual smile.

“And the same to you” she replies, her accent standing out against the grit of the jazz lounge. She’s British, you conclude, before Nepeta happily jumps up and down and rushes to push everyone else out.

“C’mon you guys we’ve gotta leave them to it! They won’t loosen up with us overhearing!” she squeals, obviously excited, “Overhearing” becoming “O-fur-hearing” with a slight inflection. The situation couldn’t really be more obvious; you are at the ends of a chessboard, and someone will have to make the first move.

Kanaya chooses to take the white set. “I do hope you realise I’ve been entirely forced into this, and would have no intention of remaining here if it weren’t for these ridiculous shenanigans set up by Nepeta.”

Frigid, but that’s about what you expected. “I’d have no intention of holding you here against your will, Ms Maryam, were I not in the same predicament myself.” You loosely clasp your hands around you knees, striking up an idea, “But seeing as we are here, forced to endure each other’s company until everyone bores of this ordeal, I’d like to offer you some wine.”

She hesitates, apparently not expecting this move, unsure whether to advance or abscond. “You haven’t put anything into this, have you?” she says, picking up the red and sniffing it cautiously.

“If I’d intended to drug you I’d imagine in full view of your manager would not be the most ideal place to do so.”

“Forgive me, but you come off as a rather suspicious character” she says bluntly, switching her grasp on the wine so that she now holds it like a chalice rather than a magnifying glass. “And that sweater must be three sizes too large for you” she adds, eying it with a single brow arched, “at least.”

You smirk. “You’ve got a good idea for size, at least.”

“And you, a terrible one. You’re almost as bad as Aradia.”

An image of the tallest singer with the dirt across her nose wearing an overlarge woollen sweater invades your mind. Aradia. You file the information away for later use, and glance back over to Kanaya, tilting your head to the side slightly. “I wear what’s comfortable. But I might mention _your_ ensemble is very elegant this evening.”

Kanaya pauses. Perhaps you’ve gotten a little too bold, too early? The other woman worries her lower lip and swirls her wine around thoughtfully for half a second before she allows a thin smile to emerge.  “Why, thank you.”

“Of course.” Your own lips stretch to mirror the motion. Ah, so she does smile. One step forward, the knight bypasses the first row of pawns and strides confidently into play.

Kanaya reclines slightly, perhaps deciding you won’t be such a pain to talk to. You’re pleased to see the hostility ebb away, because it makes conversation far more civil. Not that arguments weren’t enjoyable in their own way, but you’ve certainly filled your lifetime quota for those and any you seek these days tends to be for the sport if nothing else. She tilts her head to the side and surveys you properly for the first time, and you’re fairly sure that the way you straighten your back is less of a voluntary thought and more of an instinctual action.

“So, you’ve been here every night for a week. I was honestly expecting you to drop off after the third night, and after yesterday…” you hope she doesn’t catch you flinch, “… I’m starting to believe you aren’t the drop-beat poet I first took you for.”

“I‘ll consider that a compliment.”

“It may be one.” This is all she says before she swirls her wine again and takes a small, delicate sip. She leaves no trace of lipstick on the rim, perfectly poised. Then she raises an eyebrow at you. Perhaps you’re watching too closely, but you’re certain you were keeping yourself under control, so the answer has to be that she’s watching you too. An interesting game, indeed. She leaves no gap in her defence.

Then suddenly, things take an aggressive turn as her calm expression deepens again into that strangely predatory frown. You blink, before you can help yourself.

“Why are you here?” she asks bluntly, peering down at you with piercing deep green eyes.   
  


You don’t answer. Not at first. It seems you’ll have to throw the game early. Perhaps. “I think you know why, Kanaya.”

She lifts her chin, like using her name was an unwelcome step into acquaintanceship. “I might.”

She doesn’t use your name, because of course, she wouldn’t know it. You’ve been careful to keep yourself covered.

And you’ve given her a lot of reason to distrust you in the same step. You stay silent, and wait for her to answer her own question.

She’s taking a long time.

“Not me.” She finally settles on, after five minutes of muttering and strange glances. “You can’t be here because of me. Why would you be?”

You fight the urge to snort. “Well you might not have noticed how charmingly attractive you are, which I can’t hold against you, but you also seem to have a strange case of terrible denial.”

“So you’re a-“

“If you really need to question my sexuality at this point of the conversation then you’re deeper in the river than I thought.” She opens her mouth again, and you continue before she asks another flustered, superfluous question. “And I knew about you because I’ve done some snooping.”

“John?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll murder him.”

“I’d really rather you didn’t.”

 You watch curiously as she goes quiet and starts to fidget, setting the wineglass down. After a short while, there’s a confused, although not entirely displeased “… Really, me?”

You purse your lips and give her an amused look, and then you raise your eyebrows and she hides her face in her hands.

 

 -----

 

Really, did she have to be so goddamn forward about it? It meant you had to revert to modesty rather than barbs and witticism. You’re starting to feel like things couldn’t get any worse, when, from your handbag under the table, your phone starts to ring and you recall with a tone of pure horror that you leant the damn thing to John this morning and forgot to check your ringtone again afterwards.

You can hear him giggling somewhere backstage.

_You are going to strangle him._

T.T.’s eyes are slipping down towards the table, to where there is a chiming melody of Mousse T’s “Horny” emitting from your handbag. Curling up and dying seems like a fine idea at this point, but never one for idleness beyond necessity you scramble for your phone and turn it off and-

_John was the one calling you, that little bastard._

You shove your phone back into your bag, livid. T.T.  quirks an eyebrow at you again, from behind those glasses. You were expecting laughter, so you’re thankful she’s holding her tongue. You give her what you hope is a serious look, though you can feel the tips of your ears burning.

“That’s not my usual ringtone, and I hope you didn’t assume otherwise. I made the momentous  mistake of lending my phone to one Mr. Egbert this morning, and I can assure you I don’t plan on ever doing so again.”

Infuriatingly slow, she tilts her head to the side. “How long have you been working with John?”

“Three years, around abouts.”

“And you still lend him your cellphone?”

“… Not anymore. Excuse me.” You stand up in order to make your way towards the dressing room, and you hear a lot of hurried movement as the majority of the occupants rush out the door. Poking your head inside, you see that there are only two people left; Karkat, and, unsurprisingly, Nepeta. You can feel T.T.’s  eyes on your back as you fix Nepeta with a glare. “I am never going to forgive you for this absolute _shamble_ , Nepeta Leijon” you hiss at her through clenched teeth.

She shrinks with an abashed expression and gives you a little, horribly knowing smile, like she can read the whole situation and you get the feeling that your horrendous blush hasn’t abated in the slightest, even if it doesn’t show as keenly through your tanned skin. Karkat just stands there with his arms crossed.

“It’s kind of rude for you to be here gawping at us when you’re in the middle of a date” he frowns at you, pointing back out the door. You wish you could tell him to leave, but he does happen to own the place.

You sigh. “Can we at least have some proper solitude? It’s not particularly easy to relax when I know you’re all back here waiting for us to fling ourselves at each other.”

You hope they didn’t miss the sarcasm.

Nepeta mewls unhappily “But I just called Jade-“

“Absolutely _no_ spectators” you snarl in responsive outrage. She lets out a small ‘Eep’ and dashes out the door before you can chase her. Karkat barks out a short laugh.

“Fucking finally, now I can go home.”

You pause. “What?”

“Yeah, look, I’m sorry about the phone thing. I was trying to make sure they didn’t mess it all up for you.”

“You were just here to-“

“Make sure nothing fucks this up for you, yeah. You can sing me praises now.”

You find yourself smiling appreciatively at him. Karkat Vantas is looking out for you, beneath all the gruffness and the frowning. He tosses you a set of keys, which you fumble for.

“I know you’ll get these to me tomorrow, so uh, have a nice night I guess.”

“Thank you, Karkat. I appreciate this.” He shrugs and makes his way out, hands in his pockets. You quietly close the door to the back room and wander out onto the stage, sitting down at the edge rather than returning to T.T. at the table. The stage is more comfortable for you, and you’d rather battle on your own grounds.

“You may relax now, I’ve seen to our unwelcome audience.”

She takes this with a nod, and stands. She’s not tall, you find yourself thinking- not tall, but she still holds herself with a regal, stiff-backed look. Not a woman to be walked over, nor underestimated. Few things gave a person this kind of confidence, or so you’ve found. Ignorance is one, though you quickly strike that idea out. Money was another, and she certainly ordered enough every night to be working off a modest sum. Intelligence was a possible third, and this seemed the most likely of the three. She takes off her glasses.

You stare. Dare you say it, but her eyes are actually quite gorgeous. Violet, dark, and serious. You’d never seen anyone with violet eyes before. You’ve heard they’re quite rare. You distract yourself from these thoughts as she draws closer, and, to your surprise, she offers a hand.

“Rose. Rose Strider. I thought it would be somewhat rude of me to continue without at least offering a name for you to utilise in our interactions.”

Your first thought escapes your mouth before you can help yourself. “Are you related to Dave?”

“I suppose so, though it’s not through any choosing of mine. He’s my half-brother.”

You find yourself looking for resemblances. They both have the same white-blonde hair, at least. And those strong, shapely eyebrows, too. “Strange. I’d only heard he had an older brother.”

“We tend to keep these things secret. It’s easier to maintain a normal life, that way.”

She’s about to withdraw the hand, and out of some strange impulse you reach forward and grasp it. Something in your chest flutters. To distract yourself from the sensation, you turn your thoughts to her nails. Everything about this woman was black fabric and function. You wonder what she’d look like if she ventured into the realm of colour more often.

You’re appalled to find yourself imagining dresses for her.

“I’d like my hand back, if you don’t mind.”

You release it immediately, withdrawing your own to your chest. “I’m sorry, I was just thinking about something.”

“So I’ll take it you didn’t hear a word of what I just mentioned.”

You shake your head, with an embarrassed grimace. A bemused smile graces her. “I was asking if perhaps you’d like to go somewhere for dinner. I can ask Jade about places.”

You’re suddenly too busy remembering how to breathe properly to answer her.

 

\----- 

 

You had to lie to her about the name. “Strider” had just slipped out- at least it was more plausible than trying to explain a connection to the Harley or Egbert families. And you hadn’t lied about the half-brother part, so she wouldn’t have too much to doubt. You hope.

The dinner had been a spur-of-the-moment plan. No matter how you tried, there was always a rather large portion of you who wanted to keep the conversation with Kanaya going- you wanted to find out more about her, why she’d come to America, why the other musicians called her “Bridesmaid”.

Rose Lalonde kept secrets, but people didn’t keep them from Rose Lalonde.

Or; The perils of being overly curious, a study in lavender.

You wait patiently. It would be a shame if she turned down your proposition, but you suppose stalking her for a week would qualify as good motivation for avoidance.

She’s chewing her lip now. You do your best not to watch, and instead stand politely with your hands clasped behind your back. You’re about to start tapping your foot when she stops, swallows, and blinks.

“Alright.”

“Excellent.” You reach for your pocket in order to retrieve your cellphone, but Kanaya beats you to the punch line.

“Don’t worry about it, I know a few places.” For clarity, she adds “Nepeta is probably at Jade’s place right now. If you call her, she’ll find out where we are.”

You nod. Smart woman. You weren’t exactly keen on Jade spreading gossip- not before you had a chance to un-meddle any insane theories, anyway. “Then by all means, lead the way, Ms. Maryam.”

She adjusts her shawl and picks up her purse- you return to the seat and retrieve yours.

You leave the wine on the table.


	5. The Fourth Night (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apolgize both for the comparitive length of this chapter and the ridiculous amount of time it has taken me to post it. Anyway, enjoy.

You decide on a fairly inconspicuous place for dinner. You’ve eaten there with Feferi, Nepeta and Aradia a few times- in those lazy days when you weren’t all preoccupied with boyfriends and anime. That was before things turned sour- a gentle halcyon that was ruptured by worldly truths and a late spark of cruel maturity.

Growing up is hard. It’s hard, and so very few people have sampled quite the correct palate to understand how hard it has been for you. But you try not to allow your thoughts to dwell on that.

Rose follows by your side, and you chatter idly- about your jobs (You tell her you’re a florist during the day), and she tells you she’s a writer, albeit a yet unpublished one. You tell her you’ll look out for her works one day, and she responds with a sardonic smile that leaves you maddeningly curious. She’s not telling you the whole truth- she’s doing a good job of hiding it, but you’ve been playing the game of tell-tale for longer than most people know, and you can catch a story when you see it being woven.

You find out that she’s fairly well-off, due to a large sum of money she recently inherited- and that she has a Master’s degree (With honours), majoring in English and minoring in psychology. You tell her you were studying botany- you leave out the fact that you’ve been studying by correspondence, and that you haven’t actually finished the degree yet. She asks about your dress. You tell her you made it yourself.

You’re pleased to see that she’s mildly impressed.

She’s slightly younger than you- by about three months. And her hair has always been that white-blonde colour. She’s been living in New York, but after some ‘unsavoury’ events, she’s moved down here in order to get away from a life she couldn’t bear to live anymore. She’s known John for several years- you’re just discussing this as you walk through the door.

The place you’ve chosen is small and quiet bar, but they do a good meal and it’s suitably classy. You show Rose to a table and she waits for you to sit before sliding in for herself. Everything about her is so controlled- the way she gently snaps her glasses shut again, folds them and tucks them into her purse in one movement. She crosses her knees and rests her arms, fingers entwined, on the table. You find yourself sitting rigidly, as though someone had glued a board to your spine.

In all honesty, you still don’t know what to expect from her. But she’s different.

So very, very different.

“So, Ms. Maryam. Tell me, why do they call you “Bridesmaid”?”

You take a second to register the question, feeling a small part of you clench. You try to sound casual in your response. “Oh, it’s simply a nickname. You know the old saying, always the bridesmaid…”

“…Never the bride” Rose finishes for you, “So I’d take it you’ve never been in a relationship.”

It’s the last thing you want to admit to her, but you find that a small “Yes” escapes you before you can do anything about it. There’s something about this woman that loosens your tongue in the most frustrating manner.  Before she can comment further, you save yourself by asking why she calls herself “T.T.”.

She waves it off casually- you wish you could pull off that calm air- and answers you. “A silly nickname, as well.”

“What does it stand for?”

“Nothing in particular.”

“Really.” You give her a look that you hope seems perfectly controlled, an eyebrow quirked.

She doesn’t budge. “To be honest, it’s somewhat childish, and I’d prefer not to share.”

“Very well then.” You reply, and leave it at that.

There’ a small silence wherein someone comes to your table and sets two drinks down in front of you. She’s taken the liberty of ordering you a Virgin Bloody Mary. It looks like she’s drinking iced tea. Blackberry, by the smell. It’s nice, and it suits her, dark and sweet in a dangerous way.

“How exactly do you know John?” you ask, in an attempt to regain some control over the conversation. She takes a sip with a funny little smile.

“It’s um- It’s something of a tale, actually. We dated-“ You try to hold back your surprise, but she notices instantly- “Yes, and it only lasted a couple of months until we came to the mutual understanding that neither of us were really looking in the right place for a partner. John is a gentleman, but he wasn’t for me.”

She took another sip as you drum your fingers lightly across the table.

“And after that?” You sample your drink tentatively.

“He tried to set me up with Jade.”

And then you swallow very ungraciously and try not to choke.

She gives you an odd look and you blink and look in another direction- anything rather than admit surprised idiocy to the woman sitting before you. You stare out the window instead. “And how did that go?”

“It went.” She descends into an abrupt silence. You wonder if you’re treading dangerous waters. Part of you is frustrated by the entirely unsatisfactory answer- the other part tells you it’s not your job to meddle in people’s pasts- though you were always so goddamn good at it. The result of this internal debate is a lengthy silence, and you wish you’d said something, anything to keep the conversation burning.

“My mother died.”

Your head snaps back to look at her, surprised that she’d elaborate without force. You can feel your face form into a sympathetic glance and before you realize it you’re echoing the words “Mine too” back to her.

Her mouth draws a pained line. She’s trying so hard not to let anything show, and it screams everything at you- troubling memories, guilt perhaps- she hasn’t let go.

Well, that’s fine. You haven’t either.  “When I was thirteen” you murmur, fiddling with your glass. “She passed away. It was an aneurism; I remember her keeling over in the garden- the Chrysanthemums. She went somewhat peacefully but… I never knew my father, and we couldn’t track him down. It made things difficult. I lived with an aunt for a while but I couldn’t settle.” You have no idea why you’re telling her all this. “I moved about for a while, lived in London a few years… The one day I just decided I couldn’t bear it any more, packed up and flew over here. It’s been easier having a new start. Nothing reminds you of the things that hurt.” This is a lie. There are plenty of things here that remind you of painful memories, but at least there are distractions to help quell the bleeding.

She goes quiet for a short while, in time for you to hear a line from the speakers, playing softly in the background-

“ _I met a girl who sang the blues, and I asked her for some happy news-  
But she just smiled and turned away.”_

“I’m sorry.” She murmurs, and swallows.

“As am I.” You reply, sombre, and toy with the rim of your glass. You can’t keep your eyes off her for long, however, and you can hardly ignore the disarming parallel between you.

You reach out and put your hand over hers, and immediately she looks up, violet eyes flashing, before her expression stretches into something of a smile.  

“Let’s talk about something else.”

“A good idea.”

 

 

 

She toys with her glass for a while, fingers sliding slick over the transparent substance. It hypnotises you, so that you’re only staring at her fingers when suddenly she murmurs a quiet “As am I” and lays her hand on top of yours.

You aren’t entirely sure whether the sensation you’re feeling is burning warmth or icy cold. You do your best to smile at her suggestion of talking about something else.

Your mother… Was not really someone you wanted to try and remember. Not now.  

You return your gaze to her fingers. They’re thin and elegant, but you can feel roughened skin on areas of her palm from her day job, and her bones are taut piano cords beneath her flesh. They’re worker’s hands, and they’re not like yours. Yours are soft and flimsy. They’re writer’s hands.

She’s holding on a little longer than you think she realises and you desperately try to quell the monster in your body threatening to shatter your well-managed form of ice.

“How long are you staying here?”

“Hm?”

Kanaya licks the rim of her lips- a subconscious gesture, you muse, I could use that- and asks you again. “You said you live elsewhere at some stage. How long are you staying here?”

You pause and think for a moment, even though you already know the answer, which is _as long as it bloody takes to get this manuscript finished_. “A few weeks, maybe. Or however long it takes for Jade to throw me out.”

You both know Jade would never do any such thing, because she’s _Jade_. But Kanaya smiles. Terrible jokes are well worth seeing that smile, you decide on the spot.

She removes her hand and you find yourself suddenly wanting, but you say nothing about it and draw yours back to fiddle errantly with your nails, which are getting a little too long. Your meals arrive right on cue. You suddenly recall that you’ve ordered a steak, and for the length of three seconds you’re ashamed, until you see that _she’s ordered hers rare_ , and a smile escapes you before you can help it.

Unfortunately, this has her eying you in suspicion. “Expecting a salad?” she questions, pointedly.

“You don’t look like you need it” you immediately reply. It’s a good move; she colours slightly and spins her fork between her fingers.

“Oh. Um, thanks.”

“My pleasure, Ms. Maryam.”

“Kanaya’s fine.”

“Very well, then, Kanaya.”

There’s silence for a time when the both of you cut into the meat before you- yours requires a small amount of sawing, which you manage without looking like John Egbert playing the violin. She carefully dissects hers into several bite-sized pieces, before she opens her emerald lips and slips a sliver inside, chewing carefully like you were dining high in Paris. You’re entranced once again by the way she so effortlessly manages to make it seem like it comes naturally to her.

Your eyes flicker back down to your steak, which lies in a puddle of blood but still at least smells good enough to eat, and you continue.  The music wafting over the pair of you has changed its tune, and now it’s marching to the beat of Jefferson Airplane.

“ _Don’t you want somebody to love?  
Don’t you need somebody to love?”_

You know what Jade would say in this situation- thinking about it makes you chuckle. Kanaya once again looks up at you, but this time she’s trying not to laugh, herself.

“Do you know what Nepeta would say to this situation?”

Your lips quirk. “ _Now, kiss_ ” you say, and then you’re both laughing.

 

 

You had to admit, the compliment caught you a little by surprise. She was fast with that one. You can’t say it displeased you, either.

Once you’ve finished demolishing your meals you begin to again make small banter- she asks you about the other Hearts, and you explain that Aradia comes from a poor background and has worked for her living most of her life- recently she’s fallen into the suiting of a dashing if not rather damp gentleman who caught her digging up cadavers in his family graveyard-oops. Rather than prosecuting her, as the story goes he was so struck by her that he immediately asked her to dine with him on the spot. Feferi was a descendant of island royalty and so she’d had a fairly comfortable life, although coming to the states was apparently a shock to the system. She found consolation in the rest of the band and in Aradia’s best friend Sollux, who as you’d heard was teaching her how to hack into computer systems for kicks.

You have to admit, it’s becoming easier to talk to her. You also have to admit, a little part of you is still slightly in awe of her. There’s something about how she’s so goddamn _fast_ that has you reeling, suddenly bringing out the largest and most impressive words in your vocabulary in a futile effort to feel like you’re keeping up. You’re a little frustrated by the large part of your mind that seems to want to impress her, and your back is starting to pain from sitting up so rigidly straight for so long.

And then all of a sudden you’re leaning on eleven o’clock. She takes your shocked assessment of the time with a calm blink.

“I really need to get home. I have to work tomorrow.”

She gives you a sympathetic look, and stands. “At least let me walk you there. It’s dark out.”

“Yes, well, of course. I mean, of course, it’s dark and it’s dangerous, but really, you needn’t trouble yourself-“

“Kanaya, please.  It’s no trouble at all.”

You pause a moment longer. “All right.”

“I’ll get the bill.”

You blink and stare. “Oh, no you don’t need to.”

“I insist.”

“Rose-“

“Kanaya.”

She gazes so infuriatingly calmly at her. Half of you wants to make some sarcastic remark. You’re not sure you want her paying for your meal. It makes you feel like it’s a date.

Oh, _shit._

It is a date, isn’t it? You’ve never dated anyone before. Are you coming to the wrong conclusions? You feel your legs wobble and abruptly you sit back down.

Rose stares at you, slightly alarmed. “Are you alright?”

“Oh- yes, I’m fine.” You say, massaging your forehead, “Um, sure. If you insist. Thank you, Rose.”

She gives you another look of concern and you can see her hand waver at her side for a moment before she changes her expression to a reassuring glance and turns to go and pay the check. You breathe out a sigh and rest your head in your hand. You’re not sure what the sensation in your chest is and why it’s only suddenly dawned on you that you’re actually scared but _thrilled_ to be here.

Nepeta was right. You need to make this happen.

 

 

You’re not sure why you had suddenly found yourself unable to reach out and console her as she had you. It wasn’t as easy as you had thought, making first contact. Damn it, for all your words and bravado something is getting in the way of your attempts at properly asking her out. You hope you’re not the reason for her sudden nausea. As you return from the counter you pause. She’s just reapplying her lipstick- Jade, it seemed, was her favourite shade.

You approach her slowly. She turns to you, blinks once, breathes in and says “Well then. Rose Strider.”

You wait for her to continue. She looks almost like she’s having trouble standing. “Um”, she continues, “This was very pleasant. I wouldn’t mind meeting with you again. You know, in the future, and if you’re around, and you still feel like… The way you do, I suppose.”

Oh.

_Oh._

“Kanaya, I would very much enjoy that. Would Friday be a good date for you?” Oh no, you slipped the word. You casually clasp your hands together behind your back to prevent yourself from fidgeting. You feel like a schoolgirl- this is entirely ridiculous, you’re fairly sure you weren’t constructed from gelatine a second ago.

“Yes. Yes, absolutely, that would be fine” she says, and out comes that dazzling, shy smile. You think you can see her cheeks burning- good God, your own face must be bright red!

You clear your throat. “Would you like me to walk you home?”

“Oh. Er. I’ve actually organised with Karkat. He’s going to pick me up any minute now.”

You try to hide your disappointment. Chivalry shall have to sit on its haunches and bide its time. You simply nod. “I’ll wait here with you until he arrives-“

_Beeep beep! Beeep beep beep beep!_

You nearly jump out of surprise. John waves at you out the window of a grey corvette- “Hey Rosie! How’d it go, did you ki-“

“You don’t ask questions like that on the first night you idiot Jesus Christ don’t you learn anything from me?”

You slowly turn to Kanaya and catch her sinking her face into her palm. “Um. They’re here already. You’ve obviously noticed.”

“Yes, that certainly looks like my best friend and your best friend. Aren’t we fortunate? Charming gents, the both of them.”

She smiles again and laughs in the back of her throat, and you feel your heart clatter against your ribcage with a sounding resonance. Cue the percussion, the band is in full swing from here on out. 


	6. The Fifth Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter has been a long time coming! I apologize for the wait.

The morning leaves you entirely deserted by any feelings of certainty you vaguely recall from the night before. The dinner with Rose seems almost like a hazy dream, and several parts of you offer an irritating little suggestion to brush it off entirely. Other parts of you aren’t so sure.

Back in denial again, you suppose to yourself. Old habits die hard. And then they crawl out of their graves, fetid and moaning, just to mess with you a little.

The sun is shining outside as you make your way out to the small florist on the corner, your daytime workplace. To your surprise however, you find someone is already waiting outside.

Feferi always was an early riser, like you. She’s holding a cup of coffee in each hand and when she gestures excitedly at you some of it splashes onto her dress, making you wince.

“Good morning Feferi, what on earth are you doing here so early?” you question. She jams one of the paper cups into your hand- “oh, thanks,” and with your other hand you fumble through your handbag for your keys.

“Oh, Kanaya, I was just walking by your place-“her house is _miles_ from here“-and I thought hey, my girl just had her _first_ _date_ , I better find out how everything went!!”

In the middle of a gulp of latte you splutter, making an absolute disgrace of yourself “Feferi it _wasn’t_ a _date_ -“

She gives you a playful shove in the back (Half a cup of coffee splatters flagrantly across the pavement and up the front door) and a well-meaning smile. “Do you feel that whooshing sensation, going past your ears right now?” She doesn’t give you time to answer- “ _That_ is how high you are wading in denial right now, Kanaya, it’s unbelievable.”

“Did Nepeta put you up to this? Is that why you conveniently caught the entirely wrong bus this morning and tangoed your way to my shop, halfway across town?” Your fix her with an irritated stare.

She doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest. “Nepeta has nothing to do with it, I found out all by myself!”

“John told you, didn’t he? I swear, I’ll-“

“No no no no, silly.” She says, calming down. “No need to cull John over this, he’s entirely innocent.”

You sigh, and grumble “Aren’t you supposed to be opening the salon right now?”

“I left Meenah to watch over it for me this morning” she replies with a wink, and your stomach drops involuntarily as you imagine the population of mullets and Mohawks skyrocketing over the next few hours. She puts an arm around your shoulders, whining a long “ _Kanaaayaaaaa_ ” into your ear.

“ _Fefeeeriiiii_ , adding extra vowels to my name is _not_ going to get you any more of the information you so wantonly crave” you flippantly reply, before marching out of her grasp to access the back greenhouse.

You’re about to get arm-deep pulling weeds when you hear the doorbell ring and Feferi starts squealing in a joyfully surprised way that you can only associate with the arrival of yet another friend who is here to snoop and not to smell the flowers.

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

It’s going to be a bloody long and very un-peaceful morning.

 

 ------

 

You take the liberty of Jade having left for work to flick through your manuscripts and steady your laptop on a moderately clean space of coffee table in the lounge. You had to be careful with paper in this house- you never knew when stray animals would pop out at you, or you’d lose carefully organised chapters amongst flurries of astrophysics notes. Jade may have been a tidy researcher, but she was a messy housekeeper.

But it’s the most comfortable home-away-from-home you could possibly have chosen to stay in. Having broken up mutually, you were very comfortable with Jade being your closest female friend, and a good shoulder to lean on if you ever needed it (You’d never say you needed it, of course- in Jade’s strange way she simply automatically _knew_.) 

You aren’t quite as entirely fond of Jade’s very public weaponry display, but it is _her_ house. When her grandfather died she had come to America for a stable community to rely on- she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself of course, but hitting the teenage years one tends to fall prey to feeling unconventionally _lonely_ , and on a deserted island in the middle of the south pacific, loneliness is a more difficult battle to fight.

It’s not as though she has ever needed to use them here, anyway. You hope.

You steer yourself away from Jade’s armoury and back toward the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. Admittedly you hadn’t slept well after your night out with Kanaya. You didn’t often sleep well anyway, but thoughts were stirring in your head and Jade had returned late with Halley in tow, and the barking had roused you just as much as the hound jumping on you at two a.m. There were reasons why you were more of a cat person. Halley was one of them.

The jug boiled quickly, thanks to Jade’s modifications. If you ever returned to your own home you’d have to ask for some of her inventions. Jade’s meddling with nuclear physics could be troubling at times, but hell if it hadn’t been surprisingly innovative and successful to boot. You poured and stirred in some instant coffee, no sugar, no milk. Partially because you couldn’t be bothered, and partially because with it the coffee reminded you too much of-

You brush those thoughts aside as quick as they come and return to the lounge with your beverage. The sun was filtering quite pleasantly through the translucent curtains Jade hung to hide the view of the back street, and it gave you a warm place to sit when it wasn’t raining. God, how you hate the rain.

The morning was going to be long, and sluggishly uneventful. It would suit your writing just fine while you waited about for the evening. If you managed twenty pages, you might even call it a productive day.

 

 -----

_“Plain Gold ring, on his finger he wore_  
It was where everyone could see;  
He belonged to someone  
But not me.  
On his hand was a plain gold ring.”

Unusually tonight, Nepeta took the leading microphone. Her voice has taken on a slightly scratched quality- raspy, like a blues singer, like rain on a tin roof, and it sounds so different from a girl you usually hear singing in soprano.  You often forget she used to sing on her own, and without the surrounding or melting tones she takes her own, very different sound. It’s a lonely sound. An alley cat with a chorus.

Sometimes it’s easy for you forget that Nepeta is older than she looks.

Your own voice, for now, blends with Aradia and Feferi, providing less of a melody and more of a backup trill.

“ _In my heart, it will never be spring  
So long as he wears that plain gold ring_ ”

You know she’s singing from her heart. You’re one of the few who do know. You suspect she’s told Jade too- she and Jade were _very_ close, after all. But you were always the listener. You never told. A jar to fill, bottomless and trusted. You think you can see tears on Nepeta’s cheeks- you asked Karkat not to let her sing this one. This song meant almost too much for her.

Nobody could have predicted, either, how tonight would have turned out.

_“Plain gold ring on his finger he wore.”_

John, kneeling on the stage. Karkat, speechless for the second time in a week.

Nepeta, running off stage to burst into tears in the changing room.

Plain gold ring, on his finger he would soon wear.

You think to yourself that John’s timing could have been a hell of a lot better.

You quietly excuse yourself from the festivities, catching Rose’s eye as you slip away. She’s smiling for John- John of course, her best friend, but it’s a surprised smile, a wary one. She couldn’t have warned you about this, of course. John’s trickster meter must be through the roof, Karkat is flapping his arms everywhere but his hoarse voice seems to be caught in his throat and there are tears of love in his eyes. Jade, across the room, locks onto your gaze. There’s a smile on her face, but her eyes track to the changing room to which Nepeta has fled.

You open the door and sneak inside.

“Nepeta? Nepeta, are you alright?”

“Uh- uhhuh, yeah, I’m fine, just purlease leave me alone…” She’s trying her best not to sound upset, the poor wee thing. You know somewhat how she feels. You also understand why she’s currently trying to hide away from everyone else.

“Nepeta, it’s alright. You don’t have to hide to avoid spoiling the mood. In a few hours everyone will likely be too drunk to notice.” She emerges, kitten-faced from behind the door to the restroom. Her mascara is running in messy lines down her cheeks, and she doesn’t look old like she did when she was singing- she looks young, awfully young.

She rubs her nose and sniffs. “I’m happy for him, I really, really am, believe me!”

You give her a little, understanding smile. “But it’s okay to be unhappy for you, dear. Come here, it’s alright. Jade would escape too, but I think she got a little trapped in the crowd on the way over.”

She wanders over shakily, holding her arms to herself like a comfort blanket. Her ever-messy locks hang sorrowfully over her shoulders, as though channelling her mood. You bend down slightly and hug her in what you hope is a comforting fashion. “You hug just like my Mother”, Karkat once told you. You hope he was telling the truth. She cries a little, but not too much.  She’s trying to be brave, but you know her heart has just snapped delicately in two, after hanging on a thread for so long.

She loved Jade well enough, but Jade wasn’t Karkat, you knew. What she had with Jade wasn’t the same. Jade knew it, you knew it. It was your little secret, the three of you. Four, if you included Aradia’s new boyfriend Equius, who seemed to have taken Nepeta under his wing like an overly-protective older brother.

“Guess I know how you felt now, Kan. I’m sorry” she mutters heavy barbs into your chest. You don’t say anything in return.

 

\-----

 

You watched Kanaya hurry into the back room for as long as you could before John had grabbed you by the elbow and pulled you into the festivities (You grumbled, but it was in good spirit). Soon, everyone is jabbering about whom to invite, who will be where, what will be happening, organisation and stag nights. You suppose you’re going to end up preparing half the wedding for him, as John could be associated with planning the same way a dog could be with water- he enjoyed it thoroughly, but the affair always ended up a horrendous mess. You tell him as much. He laughs.

Names are flying about everywhere, of course. Karkat mentions shot-gunning Kanaya to be his best lady, John insists that no-one but Dave will be his, to which Karkat loudly objects, but he’s too happy to sound particularly serious about it. There’s talk of Makaras and Crockers and Pyropes.

You’re waiting for an inevitable name to be called. John brings it up last.

“And Vriska will have to come too!”

Everyone goes silent. Tavros falls out of his wheelchair, and Aradia helps him back into it. “John, that name is _taboo_ around here, you _know_ that!” Feferi whispers through her teeth. She’s trying to sound nonchalant, and for once her regal air entirely deserts her.

It seems Serket has left a storm here, as she has done everywhere before. You knew you had recognised Tavros from somewhere, and you realise that the last time you had seen him, he had been hanging off Vriska’s arm.

He hadn’t been in a wheelchair back then.

“Fuck. No.” Karkat says, and this time he’s serious. John looks hurt.

“But she’s my other best bro!” he exclaims, clearly left out of the circle of silent disapproval that rings the room. You glance across everyone else. Kanaya, you notice in the doorway with Nepeta holding onto her arm like a child, has gone as white as a sheet. Jade catches your eye. She seems to know the situation better than anyone else, and makes a silent signal at you- she needs to talk to the women in green. You nod a promise to keep everyone else preoccupied on her behalf.

Then you clear your throat, (the way your mother used to at social gatherings, you realise with a twinge of dismay). “Yes, well, little Serkets aside should we continue with the festivities? There’s no sense in organising everything yet. Let excitement run its heady course, you’ve only just gotten engaged, after all.”

Feferi, thankfully, joins in and helps. “Of course!! We need to celebrate, and have fun and- probably consider closing.” She adds, suddenly aware that the occupants of the jazz bar not currently fawning over the couple were looking pleasantly amused by the carry-on.

John just looks at everyone and laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

 

\----- 

 

God, were you thankful for Jade. There was a small, sick heart beating in your chest and it wasn’t large enough for Nepeta to cling to for support. Jade knew what to do. She was a natural at it, at making people feel better, at making them feel secure, at making sure she was there to lean on. You blessed her for it under your breath and made your way to the door.

Jade watched you warily. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine” you lie, “I need to go and congratulate your cousin. More importantly, Catseye, are you alright?”

Nepeta looked up at you, and her eyes were only red, not glassy. It was a good sign. “I’m fine, purromise!” she said, “please, wish John and Karkat the best for me too, I’ll- I’ll be out when I can.”

You nod at her, “I’ll make sure I do. Take it easy.” You try for humor. “Eat some of Tavros’s chocolate stash, he’d understand.” You know it’s a weak attempt at a joke and Jade frowns slightly, but Nepeta manages a small laugh. It helps you feel a little more confident.

You stride out of the dressing room…

… And straight into Rose Strider. The mph meter on your heartbeat zooms towards the hundreds.

“Oh, Rose, I’m so sorry- I didn’t see you there-“

“It’s fine, Kanaya. Is Nepeta alright?” she inquires politely. You give her a nod.

“How’s John?”

“I suspect he’s halfway drunk. Along with most everyone else.”

You frown. “That was insurmountably fast.”

She shrugs. “It was predictable.”

You try for a weak laugh. “I guess it was.” You attempt to awkwardly scoot around her. She stops you, putting a wary hand on your arm, looking you in the eye. Once again you’re struck by their unusual colour, but you’re also seized by a small amount of irritation. You put it down to emotion and stress.

“Are you alright, Kanaya?” she asks.

You internally mutter damnation at her for catching on. “I’m alright. Why?”

“I was just concerned. I’m sorry for inconveniencing you.”

You regret your unvoiced irritation. “It’s fine, Rose. Say, um. Perhaps after I’ve spoken to John we might… Walk home together?”

She seems surprised, and replies “Oh, of course” with a small smile.

You haven’t the slightest idea what you’re doing.

But it seems to be working so far.

 

\----- 

 

You wait for Kanaya just outside the back entrance, where Jade has quietly snuck Nepeta out to take her home. You didn’t ask any questions. It wasn’t really your place to be nosy.

Kanaya exits soon after. “It’s getting somewhat out of hand in there,” she exclaims, “I’m not particularly used to dealing with people while they’re heavily intoxicated.”

She’s fidgeting, a lot, playing with her fingers as though they were snakes. “Are you alright?”

“I’m not sure if I should stay. You know, to make sure everyone remains safe.”

“Aradia seemed to have everything under control, the last I checked. I believe she said “Everything is going to be okay!”” you put on a little accent in imitation of the large bass singer.

Kanaya smiles shyly. “Yes, that sounds like something Aradia would say. I suppose things will be alright then.” She still seems somewhat down. You’re surprised to find it really bothering you. You could ignore Nepeta’s predicament- you supposed much because Jade had that well under control. Kanaya, however, seemed to be rather withdrawn, or more precisely, she was trying a little too hard to act like nothing was worrying her.

You’re not really sure what to say.

She makes up her mind before you can open your mouth to commit your mortal sins, thankfully. “My house… Flat, whatever you might call it, it’s really more of a homestay I suppose- oh, never mind- it’s just a few blocks from here. Maybe twenty minutes, is that okay with you?”

You nod and smile to reassure her. She seems, at least, happy to have you with her as you being to walk, cobbled pavement and amber streetlights and weeds growing from cracks in the building-sides reminding you just how far from home _you_ happen to be. You notice Kanaya has wrapped a thick, blood-red shawl around her shoulders, to keep her from the cold. She’d said she was doing fashion. In the least as far as you could tell she always seemed to know just what to put together to make a winning combination. A mathematician of fashion, now that was a thought.  

“Make that yourself?” you ask casually.

She laughs and looks bashful. “Um, no actually. This was a gift from an aunt overseas. She’s a rather successful fashion designer.”

“A foot in the door is helpful when you’re trying to break into the industry” you tell her, trying not to sound as though you were speaking too obviously from experience.

Kanaya looked even more embarrassed. “I haven’t spoken to her since I left England. She’s… Somewhat intimidating.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Bad relation?”

“No- it’s just-… Have you heard of the name Porrim Maryam?”

You had. “You’re related to _Porrim Maryam_?”(Hypocrisy salaciously needles you in the ribs.)

She looks away and tucks a rogue strand of hair back into her well-managed fountain, “I don’t suppose the surname clued you in at all?”

“Forgive me if I don’t immediately assume _all_ Maryams are universally fashionable _and_ hot as hell.” To your surprise Kanaya blushes from nose to ear, strongly enough to stand against her bronzed skin. She lets out a few laughs, though they sound less like she’s genuinely amused and more like she’s trying to console herself. You wonder if that was the right thing to say.

But she blinks and laughs a little more and smiles (and you feel yourself echoing before you can help it) “Thanks for the compliment Rose.” And there’s a little, mischievous glance- “Feel free to continue if it suits you.”

It’s a cute attempt, in the least, and you have to smile again. She’s not as icy as you’d initially thought- but that wasn’t a bad thing.

And seeing her smiling was better than seeing her unhappy. “I should really have seen the family resemblance sooner, not to mention the jade.”

“It’s something of a tradition.”

“I see.”

Kanaya wanders a few more steps, before speaking up again. “So, about tomorrow night…”

The date. “Yes?”

“Where are we going, what should I-“

“Formal, and I shall tell you nothing more.” She squints at you. You smirk.

“I’m not quite sure I entirely trust you.”

“Fair. Wise, even.”

“Very well then. I’m supposing we shall meet outside the bar?”

“Eight o’clock. I hope Karkat will be able to spare you.”

“I think I can persuade him I shan’t be needed.” She smiles softly now. She looks almost apprehensive, and you hope she isn’t uncomfortable. When she stops walking you almost cruise right on by.

 “Oh, this is it” she says, pointing to a brick stay house, part of a matching set that stretched up the road. You glance over it, seeing windows, well-tended flowerbeds, the brass doorknocker carved to look like a butterfly with its wings open. It’s pretty, in that quaint, old-fashioned English-suburban kind of way. It must remind her of home.

You turn back to her. She takes a step towards the stairs, then stops, pauses. And turns around to look back at you.

“Thank you for walking me back.”

“My pleasure. Enjoy the rest of your night, Kanaya.”

“Thank you a second time, Rose.” Her eyes dart, and she leans down and her lips press to your cheek (and suddenly your face is aflame and you only hope it doesn’t show, but you smile). “I think that I will.”

She leaves you cheeks burning and utterly wordless on her doorstep as she sways inside and gently shuts the door behind her.


End file.
